Raejeanne
by SassyJ
Summary: AU According to Elmore Leonard, Raylan has a younger sister, Raejeanne. Raejeanne comes to visit.
1. Arrivals

It was a quietly boring Friday afternoon conference. AUSA Vasquez running through the file of one Dante Beauregard, the apparently innocuous anonymous tip that put him in Lexington, and the small matter of one Arnold Pinter, whom Beauregard might or might not want dead.

It was nothing that Raylan, Rachel and Tim had not been through a thousand times before, probably that week. Raylan was fairly certain that Tim was actually dozing, so relaxed was his position in the chair, on the other side of Tim Rachel was feigning interest. He could tell it was feigned, he could almost hear the white noise in her head.

He didn't know what he was feeling. Boredom certainly, worry about money and his lack of it for definite, Winona… well he knew he was flogging a dead horse there. Maintain civility with her now was his cause, be kind and good, but distant. Every time they got together it all went to hell inside of a week. He couldn't be what she wanted, but he wanted to be a father to his child. He loved her, maybe… definitely… but she didn't really want him. He knew he had become a habit, a habit that deep down inside she didn't want or need.

He idly traced a few loops on the pad in front of him, too lazy to be called a doodle, just circles really.

"I'm looking for Raylan Givens."

The voice came from the bullpen. A vague feeling of familiarity stole through Raylan's senses, he pushed back from the table and got to his feet, he could hear voices, but they seemed so far away as he took a step towards the doorway and the young woman framed in it.

She was tall, lean, her short brown hair free from grey unlike his. Her palm cracked across his cheek in a blow that made him stagger "that's for running out on me the day before my birthday…" she howled, and flung herself at him.

Raylan's arms closed around her tightly, hands fisting into handfuls of her shirt as he buried his face in her shoulder. "Jeannie" he choked, and clung harder as he felt her tears wet his shirt.

Tim and Art were on their feet as the strange girl took a hefty swing at Raylan. Then Raylan dragged her into his arms, and it all went slightly hysterical.

Art Mullen had known Raylan Givens for ten years, he was well-aware that Raylan was passionate and temperamental, but this sudden dam burst of raw emotion was a new one. He had never seen Raylan like that before. In the brief glimpse he got of Raylan's face before the man wrapped up in the mystery girl like he was never going to let go, Art had seen the tears running down Raylan's cheeks, and a look in his eyes that was pure joy and devastation.

Tim looked like he wanted to make some kind of move, and was left with nowhere to go when Raylan hauled the girl into his arms like that. Art was just thinking that he should usher everybody out and leave them alone, when Raylan eased back a little.

His face was tear-stained, and his eyes bright, eyelashes sticking together in little clumps, but Raylan didn't even know or care.

"Art… everybody… this is my sister, Raejeanne." If his voice caught on the word sister, and her name was a cracked whisper of pure emotion, nobody noticed. They were all too busy processing the information that Raylan Givens had a sister.


	2. Sister

On a mundane level at least Art Mullen had always known that Raylan had a sister. It said so in his file. But since Raylan had never mentioned her, Art had never asked. But there was knowing, and there was seeing the evidence with your own eyes.

Now he had no doubt of it. Raejeanne Givens was unmistakably Raylan's little sister. In the few moments of their acquaintance Art judged her to be as volatile as her big brother, feeling the strangest moment of déjà vu when a beautiful young woman looked straight at Art with Raylan's eyes. Separately the Givens siblings were handsome, together they were breath-taking, the resemblance striking. There was definitely something to the power of two. They were alike enough to be taken for twins, Jeannie's nose more roman than Raylan's which was the only real difference in their features, although Jeannie's face was softer and more feminine than her brother's.

She was certainly drawing some admiring looks from the men in the office, followed by some extremely wary glances Raylan's way. Art grinned. He also had no doubt that anyone messing with Raylan's baby sister was going to draw Raylan's fire. Since there was no one in a thousand mile radius who was not aware of Raylan's quick draw and sharpshooting credentials, that probably meant they were in for a lively time of it.

Except that Tim was openly staring at Raejeanne, and he'd barely flicked a glance in her brother's direction. Art could scarcely miss the fact that Raejeanne was staring back, every opportunity that she got. Art had missed the actual introduction, but if it was anything near as hormonal as the staring suggested.

_Oh crap._

Vasquez sidled up to Art. "Guess we take this up again on Monday?" Art sighed and crossed his arms. "Guess so."

Vasquez grinned, "something like a nightmare, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"A world where there are two of them."

"Raejeanne's not a marshal, Vasquez."

"But she's his sister. The same temper, the same issues…"

Art gave him a sideways look, "who knows, she may calm him down."

Vasquez chuckled. "You are an optimist, my friend." Art nodded at the truth of that and watched Raylan and his sister walking towards him. It really was quite eerie he decided. They hadn't seen each other for twenty-three years, yet their mannerisms, body language, accents, even the way they moved was so alike it was like looking at carbon copies.

Raylan was looking hopeful, and Art nodded again, "go on, get out of here before I change my mind!"

_Now wasn't that just weird_, the matching smiles were positively spooky.

"Nice to meet you, Art." Art shook Raejeanne's hand in a bit of a daze. Watched brother and sister walk away, and wondered if things had just got a lot better, or his trouble had now doubled.

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Raylan was in a bit of a quandary. He needed to take his sister somewhere nice and intimate, where no one could track him down or give him a hard time, because this was all too new and a little too raw.

Nice let his scruffy one room apartment above the bar out of the equation. They might not have seen each other for a very long time, but every memory he had of Raejeanne, now flooding back full force, said that his sister had expectations of how things should be. And he knew for certain sure that his living arrangements didn't come close.

The bar itself, with people who knew him by sight at the very least, also not good. Besides, also not really what you would call nice.

He thought about all his usual haunts. Nope. Wiped them off the list. They were populated by people he either knew or who knew him.

He hadn't realised that his little internal conversation had been noticed, until Jeannie put her hand on his arm. "Ray?"

"Hmmm what?" Raylan muttered absently.

She turned around and put both hands on his arms. "I can hear you thinking." She said. "And wherever we go… as long as they serve ice cream, we're good. Okay." She rubbed her hands on his arms a little, "you can explain why you're living in a flophouse later, when we've eaten and we're both a little drunk."

He bristled, "it's not a flophouse…"

"… but it is a dive." He had forgotten just how irritating Jeannie's smile of triumph could be. Sadly, he could scarcely deny it, nor the car crash that his life, both professional and private, pretty much was.

He looked at his bright, beautiful, obviously together sister and sighed. If one Givens had to make really good, he was glad it was her. Something of that feeling must have showed in his expression, because suddenly she was in his arms again. Her arms wrapped tight about him, and he just held on.

"Ice cream."

Raylan nodded. He knew a place. He never went there because it was pricey and kinda smart, which wasn't really his scene and the few times he had actually been in there looking for people, even the bartenders looked down on his country accent some. Which set Raylan's teeth on edge.

But as a bolt hole with food, drink and ice cream, it was perfect. Even the most persistent of searchers were unlikely to think of that place.

He shot a look at the car. Everybody knew his car. He would not put it past some of the people he knew to cruise around until they tracked him.

"So we take my car." He hadn't realised that he had voiced that concern out loud.

"Your car?"

"Yeah… y'know, car… four wheels, engine, goes when you turn the key."

"You drove here?"

"How else was I going to carry my belongings. And Spike."

"Spike?"

"My pet."

He gave her the look. The look he had pretty much been giving her every day from when she was six until the day he left.

"Pet what?"

She was grinning from ear to ear, damn… she could still push his buttons.

"Spike's a tortoise."

Thinking that was a pretty strange pet to have, Raylan sighed, he really didn't want to do this in the street. "Okay, lead on, where's this car of yours."

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Raylan eyed his sister's car warily. "Oh my god, how old is this thing?"

"Cheri was built in 1986."

"You're kidding me." Raylan stared hard at the bright yellow Renault 4 which turned out to be his sister's conveyance of choice. "It's nearly as old as you are." He said weakly.

"So. The French built them tough. Rubber mats on the floor instead of stupid carpet. Practical. I like that."

Raylan opened the door and folded his lanky frame carefully into the passenger seat. Glanced over his shoulder at the contents of the back of the car. There was an open box wedged firmly in the gap between the passenger and driver's seats. The box was full of hay, and he could see the shape of something just beneath the surface.

"That's Spike."

There was a rustle as the thing moved a little.

"Hello Spike."

"Seatbelt." Raejeanne announced firmly.

By the time Raylan had figured out the seatbelt and clipped it in, Raejeanne had put the car in motion.

The old car rattled a bit, but seemed perfectly structurally sound. Raylan tried to get his head around her driving this thing all the way from New York.

It was a warm day, and Raylan searched for the button to lower the window a little.

"Winder."

"Pardon?"

"Winder to lower the window, or though you could just crack the quarterlight, saves effort."

Raylan put his hand on the catch for the strange little triangular shaped window. The catch wobbled under his hand, in contrast to the window which was incredibly stiff.

"It helps if you think of it not so much as a car, but as a loose alliance of parts travelling in approximately the same direction. Now where are we going, or am I going to drive around town until every one who knows you sees you in the un-cool car with your sister driving?"

Raylan scowled a little, and settled down to give her directions.


	3. Musings

The service was just as frosty as Raylan remembered, but the food was good, and the drink was plentiful, so he really didn't care all that much about it. After starter and main course they took a breather, and tried to compact twenty-three years into an hour or two.

Thirsty work, so Raylan ordered more drinks, and ice-cream.

"God, Raylan, there are other flavours y'know." Raejeanne grinned.

"I know." Raylan hitched a shoulder defensively. "But I like vanilla."

The waitress appeared with their order and Raylan picked up a spoon.

"So…" Raejeanne looked at her ice-cream and bourbon. "Say, Julie," reading the waitress's name tag "do you have a blender back there?"

"Surely ma'am."

Raejeanne held up her glass of Woodford Reserve and the dish of butter pecan ice-cream. "Do you think you could combine these two thoughts in a blender?"

The waitress smiled sweetly, "of course, ma'am."

Raejeanne turned back and caught sight of her brother's lifted eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing."

She gave him an old-fashioned look. "Not nothing. But… you know pretty much the highlights of my life. What about yours?"

"Helen was killed." The way he said it, flat tones, like all the emotion wrung out of his soul. Raejeanne stiffened. She reached across, put her hand on his, and he let go of the dish to clasp her fingers. She leaned forward then, holding his hand tightly. "I came back for one reason, Ray. For my big brother. As far as I'm concerned I have no father and no aunt/stepmom. I'm sorry she's gone, darlin' cos I know you loved her. But I'm not sorry for me."

For a second Raylan's hand trembled in hers. "Jeannie."

"Darlin' that was the past we shared. And it was what it was, and it made us who we are, but I don't care for that much of the past."

He was sorry about that. The thing that had been chasing him ever since he walked through the airport on his way to the Lexington office was that thing of coming home. He was home. He could run away forever, get a good head start, and it would still be the same. Home.

He was a Harlan boy. And however far you took him out of Harlan, the place would always surface to drag him back.

The waitress reappeared with Jeannie's ice-cream and bourbon concoction in a glass with a strange-looking red cherry on top.

Jeannie took a sip and swiped an appreciative index finger through the alcohol-infused froth and caught her brother eyeing her with a strange look on his face.

"What?"

"I jus' had a flash of you on your tenth birthday."

She got it then, the battle between the reality of her thirty-four year old self, and the baby sister of his memories. "Oh Ray." She scooted around the booth bench, and wrapped her arms around her brother's neck.

Raylan squirmed a little. He should have remembered that Jeannie was always a hugger.

Jeannie took another swallow of her drink. "Now. Are you going to tell me about the flophouse, or should I just draw some conclusions of my own?"

Raylan sighed. She wasn't going to let it go. "It's not a flophouse." He glared a little at his irrepressible sister.

"It's one room and a bathroom above a bar!"

Raylan closed his eyes. He would know that drawl anywhere.

Tim Gutterson wasn't exactly sure what prompted him to go hunting for Raylan and his sister after shift end. He was certain however that Raejeanne Givens would be worth the effort. If only to watch Raylan stiffening like an attack dog at every word that Tim spoke to Raejeanne.

"Gutterson." Raylan's tone was not welcoming, but Raejeanne gave him a welcoming smile and budged up a little on the bench seat.

"Deputy." She had Raylan's eyes and his same surprisingly sweet smile. "Tim, isn't it?"

He took a sip of his beer and smiled at her. "It is." He acknowledged as he slipped into the space on the bench seat that she had left.

Raylan was holding his ground, eating his ice-cream and shooting little glaring glances at Tim, which didn't leave a whole lot of room for Raejeanne and Tim on the seat.

The length of Tim's thigh and hip were pressed up against Raejeanne's and Tim could feel the stirrings of interest that he had felt when he shook her hand earlier coalesce into something sharp.

_Well, damn_. He might have only just met her, and she might be Raylan's little sister but he wanted her.

"…. Raylan, move up a bit." Raejeanne poked her brother.

Tim dragged his mind back from some pleasurably smutty thoughts and concentrated. Raylan shifted, eyeing Tim suspiciously, and suddenly there was more room.

Raejeanne moved, and Tim tried not to be disappointed when her thigh moved away from his, but he shifted fully on to the seat. Raejeanne took a sip of her strange looking frothy drink, and Tim nearly jumped when her knee pressed against his.

"So." Jeannie was enjoying being the filling in a marshal sandwich, even if one of the marshals was a relative. "Who is going to tell me about Raylan's apartment?"

Tim unfortunately took that moment to take a long swallow of his beer, snorted at that description of Raylan's living arrangements, and choked. Raejeanne put her glass down on the table, and rubbed his back in soothing circles while he coughed and spluttered, and his eyes watered a little and Raylan scowled and shifted in his seat.

"It's not exactly an apartment," Tim wheezed. "More of a motel room."

Raejeanne looked thoughtful. "So where do I sleep."

Tim was never going to get another opportunity gifted to him like that. "I have a spare bed." He said, as Raylan opened his mouth to suggest a motel.

Jeannie grinned, "why thank you kind sir."

"I don't think it's a good idea." Raylan's glare could have withered grass, Tim decided to ignore that, in favour of Raylan's sister's obvious pleasure at his suggestion. It was wonderful what a pair of sparkling brown eyes, with hints of amber, could do for a man's soul.

"Ray. I'm an adult."

"I'm your brother. I don't have to like it."

"Darlin' it's very sweet, but just a little out of place." She patted his hand, Raylan huffed a bit, but didn't offer any more vocal opposition, but the glare he shot at Tim more than made up for it.

Tim did enjoy baiting Raylan some, but decided that enough was enough.

It was getting late, and Raylan felt like he had a lot of figuring to do. His sister, back in his life, somewhere in the last four hours he was no longer alone. It needed thought.


	4. Making Out

Three nights. Three horrible, hard, uncomfortable sleepless nights. Tim rolled again, and punched the pillow with a little more vehemence than was actually necessary.

Between the days spent with Raylan, and Raylan's suspicious glances. And the nights with Raejeanne Givens, who was sex on legs and driving him crazy, Tim Gutterson thought it was a miracle he hadn't suffered some sort of nervous breakdown.

He was being good. The gentleman. It was in the unwritten rules of dating etiquette that a man did not jump the bones of another man's sister after only a couple of nights. You just didn't do that. No matter how long her legs were, or how she did that sexy little thing with her hips as she sang along to the radio while flipping eggs. Tim liked his eggs sunny side up. But if the price of those slinky hips was flipped eggs. Well Tim was a convert and leave it at that.

The crazy part, the way Raylan moved sometimes, Tim could see those slinky hips and that was fast turning him into a basket case.

He rolled again. Dammit. Dragged the quilt right up over his head.

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Raejeanne Givens had not reached the grand old age of thirty-four without knowing a thing or two about herself. She had liked the look of Deputy Tim Gutterson from the moment she had laid eyes on him, and then watching him interact with her brother, Jeannie felt she could easily love the man.

She was an immediate sort of girl. She liked a guy, he liked her, find out if this liking had anywhere to go. For two days, they had been swimming in a sea of hormones, and Tim had been a perfect gentleman. So sweet. And so unnecessary.

She lay there in the dark, and listened to the sound of couch springs, until she could stand it no longer.

No thinking, just doing. She got to her feet and slipped out of the bedroom. It was mostly dark in the hallway, but she had a good grasp of the geography, and excellent night sight.

The couch was a dark shape, the cream-coloured quilt a mound upon it. "Tim." She called quietly, just in case he was asleep. She didn't want to give him a shock by touching him without warning him of her presence.

"Uh!" The mound of covers moved a little, and a hand emerged.

She took hold of his hand. "C'mon." she muttered. Gave it a little tug, and he was on his feet, his arms wrapped around her. They were nose to nose. "Hello." He whispered.

They were the same height, his lips were tantalizingly close, all she had to do…

His lips brushed hers. Soft, sensuous, the tip of his tongue poking gently at her bottom lip. Her lips parted, and he needed no further invitation.

They were really getting into it, shuffling their way back to Tim's bed, shedding their sleep clothes as they went.

He paused as they reached the bed. "Are you sure?" he said between kisses, his fingers exploring her back like a blind man reading Braille. Jeannie moaned, "sure?" Her knees were against the mattress, and she let herself go, dragging Tim down on top of her.

Those incredible, long, sexy legs wrapping around his hips were all the encouragement Tim needed. God she was beautiful, endless legs, an ass that wouldn't quit, a long, lean dancer's body, her breasts perfect and lush like two ripe peaches. Tim nuzzled her neck gently and nipped a little.

He was gorgeous, light dusting of hair on his chest, good she was not into excessive hair, lean, well-muscled body, enough softness in all the right places, her hands edged down to cup his perfect, firm ass and squeeze a little as he arched against her.

His hand slid down into her moist place then, and Jeannie writhed against his touch, moaning "please."

So much for waiting, her sexy little moans in his ear, begging for all of him snapped Tim's control, he tried to retain enough sanity to ease into her, but Jeannie's legs wrapped his hips again, and she pushed downwards with a small cry, he slid inside and then there was only need and want and the sensation of flying.

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He was in a daze and he knew it. He was smiling to himself, which was going to raise some alarming flags with the rest of the office, but damn…

The first time had been rough and ready and so hot and needy he'd almost expired from sheer excitement. He came like an express train. They'd come together, and for a moment he swore he actually blacked out.

The second time was slow and sensuous and burning memories into his skin, like he could take a blueprint of Jeannie away with him that would last all day. The second time he had blacked out. For at least a minute.

The third time shouldn't have been feasible. He was young and fit, true, but three times, each more mind blowing than the last? His bathroom was tiny, but the hot water cascading over their skin, and her hands, and her incredible body, the bathroom floor had proved perfectly satisfactory, and then they had had to shower all over again to clean themselves up, and letting go of each other was actually really, really, difficult. And damn… Raylan was staring at him. Suspiciously.

Tim was smiling. He really couldn't help it. He tried to think of something sad and terrible, but his memories and his body were just tuned into Jeannie.

Then Art was calling them into the office, and Raylan slunk past him, and damn… this was going to be awkward because almost every move that Raylan made reminded Tim of Raylan's sister.

Art Mullen had not reached the advanced age of 55 without being aware of the hormones of younger men. Normally it was Raylan's hormones overwhelming his judgement which gave Art headaches; one look at the ear to ear grin that Tim was trying without any success to control, and Raylan's dark and suspicious glances and Art knew that his troubles had doubled.

He managed to keep his briefing on target and dismissed them, holding Tim back for a word.

"Is there something you should be telling me?" Art leaned over his desk.

For a long moment he didn't think that Tim was going to answer, and then his laconic sniper looked up.

Troubles definitely doubled. Probably tripled.

"We… uh… we…" Tim's eyes skittered sideways, and Art sighed. He had never seen that look on his deputy's face before, but he recognized exactly what it was. How Raylan was going to take it was another question entirely.

"You slept with Raylan's sister."

Tim actually blushed, and had the grace to jump when an incoming message announced itself with a soft beep. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Art took in the sweet flush on his boy's cheeks, the soft look in the restless blue eyes, and the soppy smile on his face as he read the message. _Damn_.

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Raylan burrowed into the paperwork like an Alabama tick. He couldn't understand why he felt this way. Tim was a good guy, he wouldn't mess with Jeannie and hurt her intentionally. But what he did for a living was dangerous and he was messed up from the war. However he tried to cut it, Raylan was growing a clue how Winona's sister felt, and he really wasn't sure that he wanted to do that.

It was a slow day, paperwork was more than usually dull, and hiding behind it was getting him nowhere.

Every so often a distracting beep would sound from the other side of the cheap ass wobbly partition between his desk and Tim's. Raylan tried not to notice. Like he tried not to notice the soft look in Tim's eyes, or the particularly sweet smile and little chuckle as he read the message.

Dammit. He wanted to be mad at Tim. Or maybe even mad at Jeannie. But all he could think was how damn cute it was that Tim Gutterson was in love.

Raylan put his elbows on the desk and dropped his head in his hands with a groan. He was losing it. He'd been alone so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to be a brother.


	5. Domestic Matters

The knock at the door was unexpected, Tim went to answer it knowing that Jeannie was already in town at the realtor's. They had talked about it quietly at length, Tim had expressed doubts that Raylan would even think about accepting, but Jeannie was adamant that her brother wasn't going to live in another cheap, shoddy apartment, doing favors for bar owners on the down low to keep the rent affordable.

She was living with Tim, and while she fully intended to help Tim with his mortgage, she was going to use a chunk of money from the sale of her New York City apartment to buy her brother somewhere suitable to live. She was freelancing as an editor, and she didn't need the cash.

Having realised that the woman he had fallen for was every bit as stubborn as her brother, Tim wisely put up his hands in surrender and left Jeannie to get on with it. That was one fight he had no intention of getting in the middle of.

Sighing quietly to himself, Tim peered through the spyhole, pinned a smile on his face and opened the door. "Mr Warsovski."

The old man held out something. Something with legs. And a head, big piece of lettuce clenched in the jaws. "Timothy, I believe this creature is yours." Tim could feel his own jaw clenching, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Mr Warsovski had this sad-sounding voice which always added a little extra pathos to his complaints.

Spike's legs waved a little, as Tim took back the tortoise and tried to think of a suitable apology. "I'm so sorry, Mr Warsovski, I didn't see him get out, he must have done it when I put the trash out."

"Third time I find him in my lettuces. Fourth time… I put him over fence."

Tim shook his head, "please don't do that Mr Warsovski, my girlfriend would be devastated, she really loves her tortoise." The one thing guaranteed to soften the old man was a hint of romance, so Tim laid it on a bit heavily.

Several minutes spent soothing Mr Warsovski, complimenting him on his lettuces and all his other vegetables, explaining that he and Jeannie were a couple but they had only known each other a few weeks, so it was too early to say if there would be wedding bells or not, and that the tall man who was always parked out front, sometimes blocking Mr Warsovski's parking was Jeannie's brother and also a marshal…

Tim had just shut the front door, when a glance at his watch said he was late. "Dammit." He looked the tortoise straight in his beady little eyes. Spike stared back, Tim could have sworn there was a grin on his leathery little face. "What the hell was I thinking? You're a Givens!" Tim put the tortoise down into the little temporary pen that he'd thrown together for while they were out, switched on Spike's heat lamp, "stay!".

They'd been together five weeks, and he was already talking to the tortoise.

Raylan was still a little touchy, as though he expected Tim to break his sister's heart at any second, but he had come round a lot quicker than Tim had thought the cowboy would. It was an adjustment for all three of them.

Tim tried to picture life with Raylan Givens as his brother in law. One thing was certain, it would never be dull. Thankfully, Jeannie was less inclined to shoot people.

That wasn't to say she didn't have her own strange quirks. Tim shuddered slightly at the memory of Jeannie's impromptu dancing, it was weird, and sexy as hell, and…

He was late for work.

[][][][][][][][]

Raylan was tired and tense and wishing vehemently that he had controlled his tongue when in Winona's presence. Pissing off his ex-wife was a very bad move if he wanted to be an equal part of his baby girl's life.

Somehow his evil genius inspired him to open his mouth and say exactly the wrong thing.

The sad and pathetic part was that Winona and Gayle were right. Raylan's ratty cubby hole above the noisy student bar was completely unsuitable as somewhere to raise his daughter.

Everyone said it. Art had described his living conditions as akin to living in a dumpster. Gayle had said the same, with some nasty additions about the _blonde barracuda_ behind the bar. Though how the hell she knew anything about that living over in Louisville, Raylan did not want to speculate. Winona had sighed, and given Raylan to understand that she was deeply disappointed. Again!

It hadn't helped that Raylan had spent the last two nights on Tim and Jeannie's couch.

When it came right down to it, Raylan did not have a home to go to.

Then Jeannie came into the office and dragged him out to lunch, with a conspiratorial nod to Tim on the way. That alone raised Raylan's hackles. Then this plan of hers, this time Raylan was certain that Tim was being dragged along in the wake of the bulldozer that was Raejeanne Givens. This had all the hallmarks of a Jeannie plan.

It was on the tip of Raylan's tongue to mention the last time he'd fallen in with a Jeannie plan, but that particular story was something he preferred to forget.

That did not mean he was going to go down without a fight.

"You will come and look at these places with me, Raylan Givens, if I have to get Tim to handcuff you and drag you along."

Raylan had snorted. Even though he was uncomfortably aware that the sniper was younger than him, possibly stronger than him, it was obvious that the younger man lifted a fair amount of weight if Tim's thickly muscled forearms and powerful biceps were anything of an indicator, and he also had some mad skills from Army training.

"I ain't promising anything." He growled at his sister.

"Y'can't live in that flea pit if y'wanna be part of y'daughter's life." Jeannie's carefully cultivated New York accent cracked, and the head rush of memories, of being eight years old and holding this perfect little being in his arms had Raylan mentally reeling.

Jeannie. The baby sister he had sworn to protect. Raylan nodded.

She didn't miss a thing, not the way his jaw tensed, or the muscle that jumped in his cheek, or the way his brown eyes widened.

It had been the Tommy Bucks thing that had decided her, back when she still had a job, but somehow the weeks had gone by and she had done nothing about it. Seeing her brother on the news, came as a shock. She knew he was a marshal, but beyond that she was just happy he'd gotten the hell out of Kentucky.

Then she was downsized, and before she really knew it she had sold her apartment, her furniture, packed up Cheri with her clothes and the books and personal items she was keeping, stuck Spike in a box with some hay and headed down to Miami to find her brother.

Finding that Dan Grant, her brother's boss, had transferred Raylan back into hell, Jeannie had barely restrained herself from slapping the man. Even though it was likely that Grant did not know, could not have known the truth about the treatment that her brother received as a child.

One lousy file did not a case make. And it sure didn't cover truth.

So Jeannie had jumped back into Cheri and headed north again. To find her brother, the only family she acknowledged that she had.


	6. Home is where the heart is

Raylan Givens being quiet and a bit withdrawn pinged Art's radar. Hard to pin down exactly what the issue was, and Art was tempted to leave it at that, but then AUSA David Vasquez entered the fray with a new deal for Arlo, and things got worse.

Team barbecue at Art's brought things to a head.

Afterwards Art couldn't even be sure who brought the subject up, but religion and Raejeanne Givens were not exactly friends. She reserved, with a pointed glance at her brother, particular contempt for a church in Harlan.

Art's curiosity was piqued, and he wanted to know more. But Raylan was not in a sharing mood, in fact he looked downright uncomfortable and miserable.

So Art cornered Jeannie and asked her straight.

"I genuinely don't get it, Art. I mean, you people, you have to know what happened when me an' Ray were young, so why did Dan Grant send Ray back here?"

"I know Raylan had a rough childhood." Art began cautiously.

"Rough?" Jeannie's bark of laughter was hard and bitter. "You really don't know, do you?"

Art was beginning to think that he didn't. Jeannie reached into her pocket and pulled out her wallet. The picture was old, a boy and a little girl. The little girl sitting on the boy's knee, arms wrapped tight around him, the boy's face was bruised, his good arm around the child, his other arm, the left, was in a cast. From knuckles to shoulder. Resting on the boy's other knee.

Raylan couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, Jeannie four or five. Art couldn't see a mark on the little girl, _but the boy's face was bruised_, Art could see pain and fear on Raylan's young face and a sorrow so deep that it almost hurt to look at it, "there's one lousy file, Art. It's sealed, but I'm sure some Marshal magic will get it unsealed. That's if you want to know."

He looked old and a little tired right then, and Jeannie was almost sorry that she brought it up. "It's partly my fault too, I should have made the effort to find him sooner. I thought he had got away, become a Marshal and that his life was good and he wouldn't want his Harlan past coming back to bite him. By the time I realised that my brother might need me, twenty-three years had got away from me." She shot him a very hard look. "That's what Harlan does to you."

[][][][][][][][]

"Hundred twelve thousand dollars!"

Jeannie could tell by the mulish look on her brother's face that he was going to be stubborn, which is why she had redacted the prices off of the house details with a thick black marker pen before she gave them to Raylan in the first place.

Rolling her eyes with irritation at the realtor's stupidity, Jeannie moved quickly, wrapped both hands firmly around her brother's arm, clung tight and said "We'll just walk around the rest of the house, if you don't mind." Less a question than a statement as she guided her brother away from the idiot who would surely not be getting a commission from her.

Raylan was snarling again, "hundred twelve thousand dollars."

"Yes," Jeannie shot back, infuriated, "because this is Kentucky an' not New York, I can buy three of 'em and still have plenty left over. Look at this place, Raylan." She would have liked to have made a sweeping gesture indicating the niceness of the house, but two hands wrapped round Raylan's bicep were preventing him from stalking out the front door, and she knew he would rather die than suffering the loss of dignity escaping from his sister's clutches would bring down on him.

"It's nice. You can have a proper bedroom. And a bathroom and a real kitchen." She ramped up the charm, played on every past emotion between them, made him smile, which nearly made her tear up. Raylan hadn't smiled much of late.

"And the fact that you and Tim live two streets that-a-way, makes no nevermind, huh!" He was grinning, that sweet cockeyed smile he had that was reserved solely for those he really loved.

Her hands stayed where they were, not because she thought he would flee, but because they were sharing the moment and that was the most important thing to Jeannie. Sharing the love with the brother who had loved and protected her while no one protected him, until he had to leave or not get out alive.

She leaned against him, rested her head against his shoulder, Raylan leaned into her and brother and sister took a moment then. "I should have come sooner." Raejeanne whispered. Raylan shook his head. "You came at the right time. I need you, Jeannie."

"I need you, darlin'" she whispered back.

"So it's decided then." She beamed at the idiot realtor who had come in search of his clients. "We'll take this one. Cash purchase."

[][][][][][][][]

The file was thin, almost insignificant, but Art had taken to staring at it rather in the way a lion tamer would when confronted by a lion without his customary whip and chair. He could feel the explosive nature of its content without even opening the covers.

If he looked inside, he sensed that his relationship with Raylan might change forever. There was understanding a thing, and knowing a thing, and in this case what was clearly understood was adequate.

Conscience dictated that he needed to know a thing.

The office was quiet, everyone had left, so he pulled the file towards him and opened the cover. The report was short. There was no proof who had broken the boy's arm in three places, or who had supplied the bruises. The boy played a lot of sport, the chances were that the bruises were from the normal rough and tumble of young teenage boys, and the broken arm was as a result of a play fight that went too far.

Art picked up the pictures and snorted. He could see the marks of a footprint on the flesh, tried not to think of the terror and pain Raylan must have felt as someone's size eleven workboot had come down on the young boy's arm and broken it above the elbow. His left arm. Raylan was right handed, they would do nothing that might have interfered with his ability to pitch. On the outside chance that he might make them a lot of money one day.

Each picture made Art wince. The bruises, the way Raylan's left arm just dangled by his side. The closed-off expression on his young face. That a little boy should believe that no one cared, no one was coming to save him, hurt.

There was an envelope at the back of the report, a letter and a picture. Art stared at the picture for a long time. Raylan in a hospital bed, broken arm set and in a cast, asleep, a little girl, Art assumed was Jeannie, curled up next to him, her head on his good shoulder, her skinny little arms around his neck, his good arm curled firmly around her.

Brother and sister holding onto each other in sleep. An endearing picture. Art wondered where the children's mother was in all of this.

Suddenly, something clicked in Art's mind. Raylan's bizarrely dismal performance in court that day that Dickie Bennett waltzed out a free man. Art knew what Raylan wanted to say, what they had all discussed. And he had sat there open-mouthed as Raylan proceeded to screw that up so spectacularly. Now Art realised that the outcome was exactly what Raylan expected to happen, that all the Marshal training in the world wouldn't overcome the conditioning of childhood. Raylan expected Dickie Bennett to get away with it, and that had nothing to do with the childhood baseball incident, and everything to do with Raylan's expectation that he was alone.

Raylan was brave and loyal, but he believed he was alone.


End file.
